Watercourse

When God whispers your body
to my seizing hands
he declaims
the romance
of orphan kids
and warm windows in winter nights,
the romance
of cashmeres
and feelings.

_Who is more protrusive
I wonder
my fingertips, or the elegant fabric?
the senser or the sensed? _

he narrates
the tales of mountains’ hives,
and the cattle of whiteness
in the cattle runs of kindness
on the milk isles,
and the yarns of attars and aromas!

He narrates
the emblems of passion and oomph
and the savour of curves and tunes,
and the equal scales of beauty,
justice,
womanhood,
the penumbras
of thirsting and slaking
lips and thirst,
tongues and watering irrigations.

And God's whispers about an unheard music
played only in the carrion keyboard of your iris,
crystallized in the clarity of the virgin distances
so far away that just God knows
the secret provenance
of its sacred libidinous
watercourse.